


Beautiful Ink

by likebunnies



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/likebunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One book. Two people. Many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't my traditional shipper style. It moves Josh and Donna into other areas of life and death over a long period and it's not all sunshine. Probably wrote it sometime around 2001 I'd guess. -- Jori

Prologue  
October 2042

Janie heard the chimes and hurried up toward the front of the store. It was the third Sunday afternoon of the month and that meant she was the only person here. Although the counter was supposed to be her only job, she often would be in the back, repairing the old books. She didn't mind being alone. At least this way she could listen to her own music.

A woman was standing at the counter by the time she got there and Janie approached her with her best helper smile. Another woman was standing a few feet behind her, looking around.

"What can I do for you today?" she asked the one at the counter, and the woman offered her a weak smile back. "Looking for something special?"

"Yes. My daughter called about a book by Beckengruber a few weeks ago and a man said you had a copy. I wanted to see if it's the right one and he said he'd hold it behind the counter until I could get here," she said, pressing her hand to her chest. Her gray-blonde hair was pulled back and she was wearing a Burberry coat. Janie guessed she wasn't from anywhere around here considering none of the locals had bothered to put on coats yet. The other woman had dark, straight hair and it was pulled back in much the same way and they both had the same hesitant expression.

"Oh, yes! This . . . this is a good one," Janie said, stooping down to look through the many books that were scattered on various shelves. She ran her fingertip across the spines until she found the right one and pulled it out, smiling proudly at the book. "Here you go."

Janie held it out to the woman who seemed apprehensive about taking it. She said that she wanted to see if it was the right one but Janie didn't know how many copies of this book there could possibly be hanging around still. It wasn't exactly a best seller in any era, even if its leather binding was beautiful. Few people bought books for just the beauty of their covers, though.

Finally, she reached out tentatively and took it, holding it away from her with shaky hands. She looked at the cover and Janie watched her closely, wanting to offer up any information she had on the book. She didn't ask, though. She remained silent, opening up the front cover and peering at the clean endsheet and flyleaf. The woman leafed through it before returning to stare again at the endsheet.

With a sigh, she closed it and handed it back, the pout on her face enough for Janie to know it's not the one she's looking for.

"Thanks," she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets and turning to go. The other woman looked even more defeated as she stood there shaking her head with disbelief.

"Is there anything else . . . another book you might be interested in?" Janie asked before they could get out the door empty handed. Sundays were always bad and she was usually blamed for poor sales. She'd rather be in back doing restorations full time but someone else beat her to that job.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She looked down at the ground, still pouting. "That's all I needed. Thank you."

Janie watched as the women exited the store and then shrugged her shoulders. "I can't help everyone, I guess."

**************

Chapter I: Joshua

Give and Take  
December 1999

Josh ran his fingers across the spines of the books, amazed that they even had a section on what might pass as sports in a different era in this place. He fought the urge to sneeze as he pulled a book from the shelf and turned it over in his hands. He could hear Mandy carrying on about photographers and he was just glad she wasn't carrying on anywhere near him right at this second.

He knew they were running out of time to shop. Sure, the store was willing to close for the President of the United States but it was Christmas and they probably wanted to get back to business soon. Plus they all had business back at the White House . . . and other places. Singing and carolers and stuff that went beyond what he felt he had to do to help run this country.

This one would have to do for now. It wasn't what she wanted but he knew better than to buy her skis. Next he'd have to buy her the ski vacation and that wouldn't look right. This was bad enough. Most of the assistants were just getting a basket of something . . . Christmasy. Not an antique book that cost a small fortune.

"Josh! We're going soon," Mandy called out, stopping at the end of the aisle where he was, her arms crossed over her chest while she tapped an annoying foot on the floor. She was still pissed about passing up a good photo op and was taking it out on everybody but mostly him. Directing her anger at him fell within an area she was quite comfortable with and he learned long ago how to ignore most of it.

"Coming," Josh said, digging deep into his pocket for a credit card, just happy he wasn't footing the bill for some trip to Aspen.

**********

Simple Beginnings  
May 2001

Josh was watching her from around the corner, trying to judge how she was talking all of this. He wasn't sure whether she was more worried about the President, her job or what was going to happen to the two of them if this fell apart as fast it as it seemed to be falling right now.

He'd ask her but he wasn't exactly sure how without letting too much out in the open. She was still just an assistant even if she was privy to more than most assistants around here. He couldn't share everything with her. It was a strange relationship, theirs. On one hand, she knew him better than any other woman did right now yet because of their job, there was always something he couldn't share with her.

Maybe that's why he couldn't quite cross the line just yet. People would assume he was sharing everything with her. Josh wondered how much Leo had shared with Jenny before it ended. Perhaps the problem was he never had the time to share anything, even the things he should have been telling her.

Donna opened her desk drawer and pulled something out. Josh took a step closer to see what it was and then smiled when she opened up the book in her hands.

He thought she would have taken it home with her but instead he had stumbled across it late one night when he was searching for some papers and she had left for the day. It hurt that she left it here, tucked in a drawer like a hotel bible but the he realized that she spent more time here than she does at home anyway.

She read the inscription, her face unmoving. Then she did something he never imagined -- she tossed the book to the side, towards her purse that was sitting on the corner of her desk waiting for her to pick it up and go home. With a quick look at the clock, he realized that it was that time. She was taking the book home . . . because she felt that this was over? They had lost already?

Donna turned in her chair and found him watching her. There was no way to hide it and she cocked her head to the side.

"Was there something more you needed before I left?" she asked uncharacteristically. Lately, she would just tell him she was leaving at some ungodly hour and he'd barely turn his head from whatever meeting he was sitting in to respond.

"No. Yes. Are you okay getting home?" he asked and she gave him a puzzled half smile.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I don't know . . . are you okay?" he asked, stumbling over words and meanings.

"Yeah."

"Did you eat today?" he asked and now she looked even more puzzled.

"Josh . . . I . . ."

"Let's go get something to eat," he said and now she looked at the clock on the wall. "We'll go to the place people usually go to at 2 a.m."

"Home?" she asked and then her face fell flat. He didn't answer with a yes or a no. He didn't answer with anything but a quick nod.

But that was how things began. Simply in the moment of stress with the fewest words the two of them had ever spoken.

***************

Drowning In It All  
January 2002

Josh struggled to get the combination of snow and . . . whatever it is on the ground in Iowa off of his shoes before he tracked it all over the motel room. "Who in the fuck ever came up with this campaigning in fucking middle of winter shit should be shot --"

He stopped talking when he realized she was in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Hey," she said, crossing and then uncrossing her legs.

"Hey," he said back. "What are you doing here?"

He slid out of his wet jacket and tossed it towards the heater followed by the shoe that was already untied. He had a million more meetings today and the snow just wouldn't stop coming down. He only came back here for some dry shoes and a quick nap.

"I thought you might like some help," she said, her eyes following him as he hopped across the floor, trying to get his foot out of a wet sock. He finally succeeded and sent it flying in the direction of his other clothes.

"It's going to take a lot more than that . . ." he started to say but stopped when she looked down at her hands folded on her lap. "Sorry. Yeah, I can use some help."

"Besides, I've missed you," she said and he didn't know how to respond. How long had they been out of DC now, out campaigning for something so utterly hopeless that they might as well be trying to swim to the surface from the bottom of the ocean? He couldn't remember. All he knew was it was a losing battle that had already gone on too long. Bartlet might have convinced the party to back him, but the people . . . they were a long way from convincing the people.

"I've missed you, too," he said in voice that wasn't entirely convincing. He ran his hand through is damp hair and just stood there, with one shoe still on, watching her.

"Not going so well?" she asked, and he laughed.

"Not going well? That would be the fucking understatement of the year," he said and she cringed at his use of the word fuck in his sentence. It had become his new favorite word since sometime last May when this all began. "It's going to hell, Donna. All going to hell. I thought being on the campaing trail through the primaries sucked but that was nothing compared to this. Nothing. At least we had . . . a vague change of winning."

She patted the spot on the bed beside her and he sat down, resting his head in his hands. "Should he have . . . should it be Hoynes?" she asked and he wanted to laugh. He kicked off his other shoe, sending it flying towards the wall.

"Judging from the polling data handed to me an hour ago, it should be anyone but Bartlet. Anyone. I mean, Scooby Doo would have a better chance winning the White House than we do right now," he said, falling back onto the bed. Donna fell back right beside him, propping herself up on an elbow to watch him.

He covered his eyes with his arm, trying to block out not only the dim lamp light but the rest of the world, too. He wanted to sleep. Wanted to escape. The fire was gone right now, lost somewhere under two feet of snow and pile of political bullshit.

Josh felt her hand run across his chest, coming to rest over his heart. He moved his arm from over his eyes and rested his hand on top of hers. She was so warm and he was so cold right now. Moving just a little, Donna rested her head on his stomach, her hand playing with his.

"You did a lot during your term. You did a lot of good things," Donna said and he sighed.

"We could've done so much more in eight years. Could've done so much more if this shit wasn't hanging around our necks," he said, squeezing her hand.

"The ideas you all had . . . it would've taken more than eight years to get them all done. They were good, Josh. All of them. You're the good guys caught in a bad situation," she said. He wanted to sleep and forget that eight years wasn't even in the realm of possibility anymore. But he wanted to forget it all with her, too.

"Come here," he said, and she crawled up the bed and straddled his hips, her skirt sliding up her thighs. "How did you not freeze wearing this?"

"I'm from Wisconsin. This isn't that cold," she said, rocking her body against him. She wrapped her fingers around his and held on tight as she kept moving, making him hard through the fabric of his pants.

Donna moved long enough to pull her panties off and cast them aside. Then her hands went to work on his fly, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough for them to do this. So much for foreplay. Neither of them felt like playing right now but just wanted this carnal thing to satisfy them. To make them forget.

She was as wet as he was hard when she sank down upon him. He gasped and held onto her hands even tighter. Her nails dug into his flesh and she moaned as he thrust up and into her over and over. Hard. Fast. None of it was pretty.

When this first started, they used to make love. Long hours in bed together, sometimes not even sleeping before they had to go back to work. Now it came down to this. A few stolen minutes in a hotel room in Iowa for a fast fuck. She deserved better than this and he knew it but she kept coming back anyway.

He closed his eyes and just let go, filling her with his release and not knowing if she reached her own. He was too tired to care right now. When did he get so tired that he didn't care? She stopped moving above him and he was asleep before she even moved off of his body.

 

**************

Sometimes . . .  
November 2002

Donna was sleeping beside him and he was afraid any movement would wake her up. He had sat there all night, trying to come up with ways to tell her what she already knew. This was over. The whole thing was just over. Bartlet. Their jobs. Them.

He got out of bed, moving her body just enough to free his leg. He pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt and left her alone in her room without looking back. Moving quietly through her apartment, he thought about just walking out but he knew that wasn't the answer. She would just be in the office later. Damn it. That was the biggest problem about this whole thing. Their personal lives began to merge with their professional lives and he didn't know how to escape either one.

She had to feel that the end of this was near. That there was no way he could balance this and a failed campaign and a job that was going to last for several more months even if they were a bunch of damn lame ducks.

Waiting for her to get up, Josh searched her bookshelf for something . . . the book from a few years ago. He found it easily, its fancy cover sticking out from between her roommate's college text books and Donna's various novels that she never seemed to actually read.

He pulled it out and opened it, reading it one last time. He wasn't sure when he felt like that last. How long had it been since he felt that he cared and that he wasn't struggling to keep his head above water? A long fucking time.

At first, she was a refuge in all of it. They'd deal with grand juries and hearings on the Hill all day and then run off together at night, either to his place or hers. Then they'd forget about it all together. Then she'd show up on the campaign trail, giving him an escape. It wasn't reason enough, he knew, but that didn't stop them. She needed someone who loved her for more than an escape. Some days he even found a tiny part of himself disliking her for letting him pull her into this. She should have stopped it and asked for something better but she never did. He hated that she loved him enough to stay in a bed with him when the rest of his life was so fucked up.

"What are you doing?" she asked from behind him and he slammed the books shut, turning to her.

Her hair was messed up from what happened last night when they got home and her eyes were puffy from a lack of sleep. Sleep was still a luxury no one on the staff could afford, not even the assistants. Not when there was so much to clean up.

"Donna . . ." he started but the pinched up look on her face was enough to make him stop.

"Sometimes . . ." she started to say but stopped.

"Sometimes?" he asked and she looked down at the floor.

"Sometimes I wonder what would have been different between us if . . . "

"Don't start playing that game, Donna. You don't want to go there," he said, interrupting her. He handed her the book and she didn't bother to open it.

"Is that where you are?" she asked, holding the book tightly to her chest, clutching it as if it were the last thing keeping her afloat.

"Every day of my life. Every damn day I think what if he would have told people sooner? What if you and I had started this before we found out? What if . . . one fucking what if after another," he said and she didn't make any sound. "I have to go to the office. If you feel like coming in, I'll see you later."

He finished dressing and left her there, still holding the book.

And so this part of their lives ended nearly as quietly as they began.

***********

In Shreds  
January 2003

"You got everything?" Donna asked from his doorway. She had more boxes in her hands and he looked around his office from his place on the floor. He was going through papers and more papers and he wasn't sure how he was ever going to get through it all before next Tuesday.

"Does it look like I've got everything?"

"Okay. How about this -- do you need any help?" she asked, her eyes looking at anything other than him. He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"Yeah. Come in," he said and she did.

"How far you from finishing the list?" she asked, sitting down on his floor beside him.

The list was detailed, letting them know what to shred and what to delete from their computers. It covered just about everything. About all they were leaving behind was the office furniture and some of that was theirs.

"This is the stuff to shred," Josh said, pointing to a pile of work that took four years to accumulate. Then he pointed at the empty spot next on the other side of him. "This is the pile not to shred."

They worked beside each other without saying much. It had been that way for several months now and people had to be blind not to sense it. Most didn't say much when they found out about their relationship. What would have been the point by then? There was no point to much of this anymore.

"Are you leaving your chair?" Donna asked, not looking at Josh.

"The wheel wobbles again. I think I might leave it," he answered, smiling just a little. They worked in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. "Are you going to be okay?"

"We've been over this . . ."

"No. That's not what I meant. Did the job come through?" he asked, still finding it hard to believe the day had come where she'd be working for someone else. Something in his brain figured she belonged to him in one way or another and always would.

"When the White House Chief of Staff and the White House Communications Director are on your reference list, you'd be amazed how fast the jobs come through," she said and he winced that he wasn't a reference. He knew the reasons why but still, it hurt. He had been her boss long before he was her . . . ex? Whatever. He didn't know what to call himself.

"The one in Madison?" he asked, finding it even harder to believe that she'd go back there after tasting life here.

"Yeah. I have to, Josh. I have to," she said, echoing a conversation they had days ago about her choice of jobs.

"Your dad," he said and she looked away. He had been sick and Donna wanted to be close by. Josh told her to go a month ago but she wanted to see this thing through.

"My dad," she said, throwing more papers on the pile going to the shredder. Josh didn't know what to say. He said so much lately and very little of it made sense to either of them.

"I'm sorry . . . about all of it," he said and she sighed.

"Stop it. Just stop it already," she said with a huff before standing up. "I'll be back with boxes for you to pack your pictures in."

And then, along with so much else, she was gone.

*****************

Chapter II: Donna

Starting Over  
June 2003

What amazed her the most was that she could go home at 5 p.m. The latest she had to stay so far was 6:15 one evening and that was due to an error she made, not due to some problem that could bring down a nation.

It was easy. Almost too easy but she wasn't going to complain too much about it. This job allowed her the time to spend with her dad and time to do things like watch a little TV and read some books. Some days were so slow, she even had time to read books during lunch sitting at her desk. She was doing that right now.

In all the time she had this book, she never got past the inscription in the front. Now she could open it and not even stop to look at Josh's scrawling message. Actually, it was easier if she didn't.

It was a boring book and she hoped he didn't pay too much for it no matter how beautiful the binding. Then again, this was Josh and he probably found it on the discount rack. It was the only book she had with her right now and it was good enough to pass the time while she ate her tuna fish sandwich and sipped on her diet drink.

"What are you reading?"

She looked up over her cubicle to see Richard standing there, watching her with this silly grin. She had no clue why he always looked so happy and today, she honestly didn't even care. She just wanted to eat her lunch in silence. No one could really understand what she just went through over the last few years and how great a joy it was to eat in peace without hearing her name bellowed from down the hall.

Someday soon she would grow tired of all this quiet, but for right now, she just wanted to eat her lunch. And she'd prefer it if she could eat it without Richard grinning down upon her.

"A book about skiing," she said, tossing the tome aside and staring up at him. That was usually enough to make him scatter but today, he stayed.

"Do you like skiing?" he asked and she raised an eyebrow.

"I . . . I don't know how," she admitted and he smiled even more at her. She had forgotten how this was done in the normal office setting. People picked each other up and it wasn't steeped in intrigue and scandal. Richard wasn't her boss. No, he was far from it. He could flirt with her without having to turn it into something else first, without having to disguise it into something she couldn't even recognize.

"We should go sometime," he said, leaning on the edge of her cube. "I'll teach you."

"It's . . . June," Donna said and he rolled his eyes, still smiling at her.

"I really didn't mean this afternoon. But if you'd like to go to the movies on Friday . . ." he started, his voice trailing off when the expression on her face dropped. "Or not."

So this is how it was done? A date. When was the last time she was on a date? Did that dinner out with Josh after the convention really count as a date? She shook the thought from her mind and smiled up at the man still watching her with a silly grin. This was how it was really done.

"Sure. I'd like that."

And for the first time in years she accepted a date without the intention of making someone else jealous or to get a free meal out of the deal.

***********

Please Reply  
May 2005

The least he could have done was return the RSVP card. Donna knew there was no chance in hell that he would come but it was the very least he could have done. CJ couldn't make it. Sam couldn't make it. But at least they had the common courtesy to return the card. They were postage paid and self addressed. What more could she have possibly done?

Nothing more than to stop dwelling on it.

She knew there was something wrong with this whole thing when one unreturned RSVP card was upsetting her more than the fact that the people making the cake wanted to cancel on her and the organist didn't want to play the music she wanted. Those seemed minor compared to the fact that Josh couldn't even be bothered to send back one damn card.

Donna guessed at that point there wasn't much of a chance he was getting her a place setting of her china pattern.

"Here's the mail," Richard said, tossing more cards down beside her. She grabbed them up quickly, tore them open and scanned through them. Nothing. Just a lot of her mother's friends and a few of Richard's high school buddies. And Abbey Bartlet letting her know they wouldn't be coming. She already guessed that but sent them one out of courtesy. Maybe they didn't even remember who she was by now. Maybe they still got lots of wedding invitations.

Richard picked it up and got this wide eyed look on his face combined with his silly grin. "Cool. I never thought a former president would be turning down an invitation to my wedding," he said, tossing it aside.

Even after all this time, she knew he still found it a little mystifying that his fiancee worked in the White House once, close to so much power and influence. Especially now that she worked for a bunch of attorneys in Madison.

"Did you ever think a former president would be accepting an invitation to your wedding?" she said, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. She was tired of all this and there was another month to go.

"Did you?" Richard asked, going to the refrigerator and grabbing out a beer.

"I . . . don't know," she lied. Yes, at one time, she was sure she would be having a wedding where President and Dr. Bartlet would have to attend. They wouldn't be there for her, but for Josh. She scoffed at the fantasy she used to have and opened her eyes to look at the man she was marrying. Rick Kytryk. Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. More attractive than anyone else she'd ever been in love with even if he was always grinning. Shame his last name was so bad that she couldn't take it, not even with a hyphen.

He kissed her on the cheek and breezed back out of the kitchen with a quick, "Love you, baby."

"Love you, too," she said, sorting through the cards one more time.

************

Falling Again  
October 2008

"You still married to the man with no vowels in his name?"

The sound of his voice, even after all these years, made her knees wobble.

"Yes," she said, her throat closing around the word and drying up.

"Kite-Trick. Isn't it?"

"Not exactly," she replied, wondering what in the hell he was up to. It had been years since they had this same exact conversation but he always began their conversations the same way. First he had to offend her husband. She should have been used to it since before that, he used to have to offend her boyfriends. Or dates. Or whatever. The only man Josh ever thought was good enough for her was Josh and in the end, he didn't even consider himself good enough.

"First name is Dick?"

"No."

"Richie? Richie and Donna?"

"Rick. Rick Kytryk," she said, pronouncing it right for him. Of course, he would never remember for more than five minutes. This man who only remembered what was convenient for him to remember. Things that didn't bother him. She remembered when he knew the name of every congressman and senator. Surely he had to be able to remember Rick Kytryk?

"Right."

"Josh, what did you need?" she asked, wanting to end his crap about Rick's name. He probably had a patter about it worked out in his head that could last for hours.

"I'm in town. We can get lunch," he said. He didn't ask. He said it. Maybe he was scared that if he asked, she'd say no but if he just told her, she'd have no way out of it.

Her damn knees were still wobbling and her throat was still dry and she should say no. Her brain was screaming in her head for her to tell this man no but her heart was pounding out yes in her chest.

"I can't just run out and get lunch today. I'm at home for a reason in the middle of the day. It's not like I'm usually here," she said, leaning back against the counter and trying to catch her balance again.

"What's the reason?" he asked.

"Sukie."

"Is that your cat or something . . ."

"Hello, Joshua Lyman. This is Donnatella Moss, mother of an 18 month old. Use your imagination as to why I might be home today," she said, her legs finally allowing her to push away from the counter. She walked over to the high chair where her daughter was pushing Froot Loops around the tray and ran her fingers through her dark hair. Her name was Susanne, after Rick's grandmother, but everyone called her Sukie. She placed her hand on her forehead, glad to see the temperature had gone down in the last few hours.

"Right. I forgot," he said and she sighed, exasperated with him already. He was probably lying. How could he forget her calling him at 4 a.m. to tell him she and Rick had a baby girl?

"Anyway, she's been sick and I can't just go running out for lunch."

"Then I'll be there. I'll bring something . . . a jar of carrots or something for the kid."

"What are you doing in town anyway, Josh?" she asked, cutting him off before she had to explain she hadn't seen a strained carrot in over a year.

"I might be working for Congressman Monroe soon. This is his home district and I had to come out here to see him," Josh answered and Donna tossed up a silent prayer to God but it wavered between hoping Josh got the job and she might see more of him or that he didn't get the job because she knew where this would lead.

"From the White House to the House of Representatives in two easy steps," Donna joked but Josh didn't laugh.

"I've done other things. . ."

"Right. That was the second step. If you want to come over, that will be fine. I don't mind if you don't mind a baby with a runny nose," she said and he actually had to take a moment to think about it.

"I'll be over in an hour," he said, hanging up before she could give him the address. He obviously already had it.

*****************

Afternoons  
December 2008

"You still have it?" he asked, pulling the book from the shelf. He opened it to the inscription and read it, his face cringing as his eyes danced over the words. She stood there watching him for a few seconds, as he stood in her living room in his boxers. After all these years, he was still the same. Less hair on his head now and the age lines were starting to crinkle more around his eyes but he was still Josh.

"Of course I still have it," she said, pulling her bathrobe tighter around her as he shoved the book back into its spot. She should have put the book away when this started but then realized that would look terribly guilty. It had been on the bookshelf since they moved here and no one ever touched it. Maybe Rick even though of it as what brought them together.

Donna shivered at the thought and rubbed her arms, trying to warm up. They left the warmth of her bed together and the cold gripped her, not letting her go. Or maybe that was guilt. She tried to rationalize this eight million ways but none of them quite worked. Nothing could make having sex with Josh for the last two months not count, not even telling herself that she slept with him before. This wasn't new. This was something old and timeless. It shouldn't count because . . .

There was no way. No matter how hard she tried.

She'd drop Sukie off at her mother's house with the excuse that she was going Christmas shopping and then she'd meet Josh back here, praying the whole time that Rick didn't fly home early from his consulting job in Chicago. And all these months she'd been praying for Josh to give up working for Monroe so he'd have no excuse to ever come to Wisconsin again.

"What time do you have to pick her up?" Josh asked. He never did call Sukie by her first name. She was the baby or her or the kid, but he couldn't bring himself to call her by her name. It was as if that would be the final admission that he made a mistake and she had a life elsewhere he could never really be a part of.

"Soon . . ." she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him back against her body. Sex wasn't better with Josh than it was with Rick. This was one affair that had absolutely nothing to do with sex but with something she couldn't even begin to describe.

"Enough time to . . ." he started, unable to say the words.

"Yeah, enough time to . . ." she said, turning him around and kissing him hard, her tongue quickly sweeping past his lips. He held onto her hips, pulling her towards him, and she could feel his cock grow hard against her abdomen. Josh pushed them up against the bookshelf and stripped her robe off of her body, letting it drop to the floor around their feet. She pulled down his boxer shorts and he stepped out of them, leaving them tangled on the floor with the robe.

He turned her around so fast that her hands had to reach out for one of the shelves or she would have fallen over. Pulling her hips towards him, she felt his fingers tighten around her waist and felt her body bending to his will. He slid into her from behind and thrust hard as she thrust back at him. One of his hands moved down from her waist until he was touching her clit, moving against it in hard circles.

It felt good, his body inside of hers, and at the same time it felt bad. Wrong. It was wrong to be doing this but as he slammed into her with a force she never felt before, she didn't care. Didn't care because at this point she couldn't care.

His hips pistoned against her body and she was making noises she didn't think she could make. Noises that made it sound like he was pounding all the way up to her throat. And then she was coming under his touch and the noises changed into a sobbing sound. Then with one more hard stroke, he was coming, too. Coming and crying out her name as her fingers gripped the shelf even tighter. Then he slid out of her and she groaned at the loss of him. He ran his fingers down her back and wrapped them around her waist again, pulling her up and into his arms.

She pushed her hair aside as Josh nuzzled the back of her neck, kissing her softly.

"When are you going to tell me?" she asked and he stiffened up against her.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"That you're going to work for Senator Andrea Wyatt? I do still speak to people, you know. I knew as soon as she won that senate seat that she'd be looking for good people. You're the best, Josh," Donna said, turning in his arms.

"Come to work for me," he said and she blinked. It was the first time he suggested any such thing and she knew what her answer had to be.

"No, Josh. No. . . "

"Why not?

"I can't live through that again. I can't live through being second best to the nation," she said softly, feeling the tears rise to her eyes.

"You weren't ever second best . . ."

"Yes," she said, pressing her fingers to his lips. "Yes, I was. I was in bed with you but you'd rather be in bed with the constituents. They were far more exciting and unpredictable."

He was shaking his head as she kissed him and let him go. "Josh, go do what you do best."

"Are you implying this isn't what I do best?" he said, looking down at their naked bodies.

"Josh . . ."

"I thought . . . I mean, after this. Why can't you leave him?" he asked sounding just a little angry.

"Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with my husband. This has to do with what you and I can never be," she said and he just blinked at her. "We can't be husband and wife while you're working in that town."

"I'm sorry," he said, running his fingers through her hair.

"No, you're not so don't even say it," she said, taking his hand in hers and holding it tight.

"When did you get smarter than me?" he asked.

"A long time ago, Josh. The day I started working for you and I've only gotten smarter since then," she said, leaning closer to him, their foreheads resting together. "Now I have to get dressed and pick up my daughter. And you have to go set up an office for Senator Wyatt."

*************

Moving On  
July 2013

Donna grabbed a box and took it into the bedroom. Finally, they were moving into a house with a yard big enough for a swing set and a sandbox. A house with central air for the summer and not just a bunch of window air conditioners. But mostly, a house with no memories of being pressed up against a bookshelf or put on a kitchen counter by a man who wasn't her husband.

She sorted through her memorabilia, trying to decide what to keep and what to toss away. It was hard throwing out anything related to her days in the White House and she hesitated between the box and the trash with a lot of press clippings. Usually, they went into the box. So did the photos and coffee mugs and the keychains and whatever she could gather up during her time there.

Then there was the book. She never pulled it back out of its place on the bookshelf since the last time he touched it until today and now it was resting on her unmade bed. Donna heard from him once after that day but neither of them had much to say to the other. What was there to say? I love you, Josh, and I'd run away with you if I could trust you to love me back forever? The words weren't going to change him.

So she tossed the book into the box and sealed the lid, writing her name across the top with a big, black marker. It was sad, really, that so much of her life fit into such a tiny box. The only thing that was more sad was the fact that she was unwilling to just take the box and throw it all away.

***************

Chapter III: Sukie

Attics  
March 2024

"You're shitting me!" Gordon said, helping Sukie pull the box down. They tossed the box onto the floor and Gord snuffed out his cigarette before sitting beside her. Sukie smiled as she pulled the lid off the box and started to rummage though its contents. Gordon was her best friend, perhaps even her boyfriend. Her mother referred to him as 'that Gomer' but she wasn't sure why. He was cute, if she did say so herself.

"Nope. My mom worked at the White House once," Sukie said, holding up a newspaper clipping that clearly showed her mother standing next to some man, whispering something into his ear. They were standing behind some president giving a speech.

"What president did she work for?" Gord asked, looking through more of the pictures. They old bulb flickered above them and normally they didn't care about light. Normally, they didn't want light for what they did up here, but he seemed interested in the woman who called him Gomer.

"I don't know. Some guy from before we were born. Bartlet or something," Sukie said, reading his name off of another cut out news story.

"Fuck! What a loser," Gordon said with a laugh.

"How would you even know, you piece of waste?" she asked, smacking him on the arm.

"I pulled his name in the seventh grade as the president I had to write this big report on. Besides getting shot at by the Klan, he was pretty fucking boring. Couldn't even win a second term," Gordon said, still digging through the box. "What's this?"

"Some stupid book. I don't know," Sukie said, spreading out over the carpet, hoping Gord wouldn't focus on this box of crap much longer and would focus on her again. Or at least light up another cigarette so she could take a drag off of it.

He opened the book and while he read the scribble inside, Sukie sat up again and looked over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Wow. You think your mom fucked this guy?"

For that, he got a swat up the side of his head. "That's my mother, you know."

"Well, you're here so obviously she fucked someone at least once," Gordon said and Sukie sat down again behind him, pulling his body to hers.

"Yeah. My dad . . ."

"Maybe this guy is really your dad and you just don't know it," Gordon said and she reached out and pulled his ear.

"Hello? Have you seen me lately? Have you seen my dad? I think it's pretty obvious where I got my other X chromosome from," she said, releasing his ear.

"Shame you don't look more like your mom. She's hot . . ." and for that, he got another smack. Sukie crawled around him and began packing all the papers back up into the box, tossing Gordon a keychain before she closed the lid. He tucked it into his pocket and then handed her the book. "You forgot this."

"I'm keeping that out. Blackmail, you know, for when she starts bitching about us smoking up in the attic," she said, shoving the box to the side and putting the leather bound book on top of it. He tackled her and put her down on the rug, his knee separating her legs.

"Is it the smoking that pisses her off or the screwing around?" he asked and Sukie just smiled up at him.

************

Traveling  
February 2028

"Hey, Sukie . . . did you get the cash?"

Sukie looked up at Anne and shook her head. More of her sorority sisters popped up from behind her and they all looked disappointed. Of course, none of them could look as disappointed as she felt. Her dad wouldn't give her the money for the trip and her mom didn't want her even going and she was never going to speak to either of them again.

"You got anything you can sell? Any of your textbooks?" Lexie asked and Sukie's mouth dropped open.

"It's only February! How the hell am I supposed to make it the rest of the semester without any textbooks?" she asked and Lexie gave her a shrug. Sukie wasn't sure Lexie ever bought any textbooks in the first place. Instead, she probably just took the money, bought clothes and used other people for the books.

"I don't know. I don't even worry about it," Lexie added before disappearing down the hall towards a ringing phone.

Sukie wished she could be like that but she certainly wasn't going to flunk out this semester over a stupid trip to Washington, DC just because Anne wanted to see her boyfriend at Georgetown. Nor was she ever going to drop out for some man like her mother did. She heard that story enough time over the years to know that if she did that, she wouldn't be allowed to come back home.

"Come on. You must have something you can sell," Ashlyn said, stepping into the room and looking through Sukie's stuff. Sukie didn't have as much money as some of these girls and joining a sorority was the only thing she splurged on since she started college. She had to beg for the money, but finally her dad gave in.

"Nothing that's worth enough to get me to DC," Sukie said, swatting away Ashlyn's hand as she started to go through the papers on her desk. More of the girls filtered in and started to go through her stuff.

"How about this?" someone said, holding up the old book that was her mother's.

"I, uh . . . I'm not sure. It's personal . . ." she said and Kelsey opened it up and started reading the inscription out loud. She got to the end and giggled.

"I'll say it's personal. Who was that to?" Kelsey asked, closing the book and examining the cover like she knew how to appraise antique books.

"My mom."

"From your dad?" she asked and Sukie rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure her dad had never written anything that sweet in his life.

"No. Some guy she worked with when she worked at the White House . . ." Sukie started and Kelsey flipped the book open again.

"You mean he might be famous?" she asked, her eyes going wide.

"I don't think so. I mean, he was probably just some White House aide if anything," Sukie said. She never asked her mother about it. One, she didn't really want to know and two, she was pretty sure her mother didn't want to talk about it.

"Well, you're coming with anyway. I'll foot your bill until you can pay me back. And bring this along. We can have it appraised in DC. You never know, maybe he is famous and this is worth something. Maybe you really can pay for your trip with this," Anne said, grabbing Sukie's arm and pulling her from the chair.

Sukie sighed as she took the book back from her friend and held it tight. She was pretty sure if her mother ever found out about this, she was going to be murdered.

************

Disappointments  
April 2038

The phone rang and Sukie reached over Jase to answer it. He sighed loudly and tried to swat her away but she grabbed the phone anyway and retreated to her side of the bed.

"Hello . . ." she slurred out and was met with the sound of her mother's voice. Only it didn't really sound like her mom. It sounded like her mom had been crying and now was trying hide it.

"Hey, Suke. How are you?" she asked and Sukie sat upright in bed, her heart pounding.

"What's the matter? Did something happen to Dad? To Grams?" she asked, her mind not able to slip into the right gear to deal with any of this.

"No. Dad is fine. So is Grams. Do you remember how you used to hang out in the attic with that kid . . ."

"Gomer?" Sukie asked and heard her mom chuckle a little.

"Yeah. Him. Did you ever take anything from the boxes that were up there?" she asked. Sukie's heart started racing even faster in her chest. Fuck. She didn't think her mom would ever notice. She hadn't mentioned it in all these years and was certain it would go unnoticed now.

"Um . . . like what?"

"A book. An old book . . .with a molted calf cover and original drab boards?" Donna asked.

"What?"

"It's a book, Sukie. A book. Do you remember it?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Does that mean yes, you remember it or yes, you took it?"

"Yeah to both, actually," Sukie answered, closing her eyes and hoping this would end right there. She knew better. Her mom could get anything out of anybody. How else would she have ever found out about Gordon and her in the attic?

"So you still have it?" she asked, sounding so hopeful. Sukie hated to say the next what she had to say next. Hated to burst that bubble of hope her mother suddenly had.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"I sold it. I sold it a few years ago to fund a trip with my sorority sisters. Mom . . ."

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone line.

"Where?" she finally heard. Her throat was now dry and her heart was still pounding in her ears, making it hard to hear.

"Somewhere in Georgetown. Jase took me to this book place and they wanted it," Sukie said, opening her eyes to look over at the body of her husband. Jason Miller, formerly the boyfriend of one Anne Sorenson. That's how they met. On that trip. Anne would never speak to her again and she transfered to Georgetown that next fall. Now she still lived around DC and worked for the Pentagon.

"Why did they want it?" Donna asked.

"Because . . .it was old and pretty and because of the inscription," Sukie said, lying back down in bed and pulling the covers over her head. Fuck. Her mother was going to kill her.

"Susanne . . ."

"I'm sorry." Christ, her real name. She was in deep shit.

"Can you take some days off this week? Can you take off tomorrow?"

Sukie was expecting to hear screaming but instead her mom wanted her to take a day off. She had no clue why.

"Yeah. I have two weeks coming to me. Is there a reason . . ."

"You're coming with me to a funeral. In Connecticut. Your dad . . . I just don't want to go with him, okay? But I want someone . . . Sukie, please. I'll explain it all later," she said and Sukie could feel the pain her mother was feeling through the phone line.

"Sure. I can go with. I'll let them know. Mom, I'm sorry," she said again, her heart now stuck in her throat. "It was stupid. I was a kid and I needed money. I didn't think."

Jase rolled over, watching her now. She knew why. He rarely ever heard his wife apologize for anything let alone to her parents.

"I'll call you back. I'll be flying in tonight and I'll call you back with my flight number."

"Okay. Hey, Mom? I love you," she said, knowing that couldn't fix everything her mother was feeling right now.

"Love you, too, Suke," she said before hanging up.

**************

Farewell  
April 2038

She stood beside her mother, behind the small crowd of people gathered at the cemetery. It was a Jewish burial, hence the hurry to get here. Her mother had just found out this Joshua Lyman had died right before she called her yesterday.

Sukie didn't say much to her mom since she arrived late last night. And they didn't say much when they got up in the middle of the night to make the long drive up here and she certainly didn't speak while they were in car. Instead, Donna put her head against the passenger side window and slept.

Now they're here and this was going to be over soon and someone was going to have to say something. Sukie rocked from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched the people around her. Some smiled at her mom and said they'd talk to her later. Others just smiled and walked on. Mrs. Joshua Lyman was one of the people who walked by and didn't even smile. She had no clue who most of them were but her mother did.

Finally, it ended and Sukie leaned over and whispered into her mother's ear. "So, you worked for this guy back at the turn of the century?"

"Yeah," Donna replied, closing her eyes and nodding.

"Is that all?" she asked and her mom opened her eyes and turned to her, her mouth hanging open. Sukie reached up and closed it.

"Hey, Donna," some man said, hugging her tight. "God, how long has it been?"

"Twenty years?" Donna said, smiling at the man when he released her from his embrace. "A long time, Sam. Too long."

"Tell me about it. Just after . . . you know. It was hard afterwards," he said and Sukie watched him stare at her mother with these intense blue eyes. He was attractive even if his hair was gray and he was a little round around the gut. Probably far more attractive in his day than her dad and Jase ever could be.

"What happened? I never got the whole story . . . what happened?"

"A stroke. I still can't believe he's gone. Listen -- we'll be meeting later but I have to go over and talk to some people. Will you be in town?" he asked before turning towards Sukie. "Hey. I'm Sam. You must be . . . Susie?"

"Sukie," she said, correcting him.

"Yes. Sukie. Will we see you later?" he asked, turning back towards Donna.

"Sure, Sam. I'll see you later," Donna answered and Sukie looked at her watch.

"Good. Good. Okay," he said, wandering off from them.

"So, are you ever going to tell me about this person?" Sukie asked, nodding toward the open grave with a casket still balanced above it. The funeral director was lurking in the background, waiting for everyone to clear out so he could finish his job.

"He was my boss," she said, walking towards all the flowers. She plucked a rose from one of the arrangements and sniffed it.

"None of my bosses ever wrote me something like that in a book that appraised for that much money," Sukie said and her mother just smiled.

"Speaking of my book . . ."

"Do we have to?" Sukie asked with a pained groan.

"Yes. We have to. Speaking of my book, please don't go selling the rest of my stuff off until after I'm dead," she said and Sukie smiled.

"I won't. Well, at least not until Jase and I put you in the retirement home," she said, wrapping her arms around her mother's thin frame. After a minute of standing like that, she shook her off.

"I'd like a minute alone . . . okay?" she asked and Sukie stepped away.

"You'll tell me someday, won't you?" Sukie asked and her mother nodded her head.

************

Searching  
April 2040

"It's got a molted calf cover and original drab boards. Plus there's an inscription on the endboard or something. Do you have it?" Sukie asked. She had been searching for over two years with no success but she wanted to do this for her mother.

"No, can't say I've ever even heard of that book," the man said. It was the same thing all of them said.

"Do you have any idea where I might look next? Do you have have associates that I could call?" she asked the man rattled off a bunch of names and phone numbers for her.

This was hopeless. She knew it. Completely hopeless.

"Thank you," she said, hanging up on the bookseller.

"Any luck?" her husband asked, wrapping his arms around her shoulders that were slumped in defeat.

"None at all. This is your fault, you know?"

"How's that?" he asked, letting her go and sitting down at the table beside her.

"You found the place that bought it. If you weren't so damn nice, I would still have that stupid book in my possession," Sukie said, pulling her long hair into a knot behind her head.

"If I weren't so nice, you and I wouldn't have gone out and we wouldn't have gotten married and you'd be some lonely girl who got her degree from the University of Wisconsin . . ."

"You never know that. I could be married to someone far more successful than you," Sukie said, putting her hand over top of her husband's.

"So, has your mother ever told you more about this guy who wrote in the book?" he asked.

"Not a word. That didn't stop me from doing my own research, though. He was her boss. He worked in the White House as Chief of Staff or something during the Bartlet administration. He got shot when they tried to take out Bartlet," Sukie rattled off, trying to remember all the crap she read. She was sure she was mangling up some of it but did it really matter now? Jase would never know the difference.

"And he was in love with your mom?" he asked and Sukie scrunched up her nose. That's the part she didn't ever want to discuss. Her mom and dad lived in Florida now, having retired to a house by the Gulf. When they went to visit, she knew better than to ask about it in front of her dad and she couldn't ever summon up the courage to ask when she was alone with her mom.

"Apparently."

"Well, then I suggest you get your mother her book back," he said, pulling his hand out of under hers and getting up from his chair. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay," she said, looking down at the list of phone numbers in front of her.

*************

Chapter IV: The Booksellers

Pages  
April 2042

Paul loved these old estate sales. Usually, the appraisers had no real clue as to what was the real value of the books and he'd walk off with an armful of books for the store. Or else the family was just in a hurry to get rid of the dusty old tomes and sell the house and split the cash. He saw books with incredibly personal things in them thrown on the heap in a hurry to clean out a house.

His fingers danced over the spines of the books, a sense of glee rising in his chest that only a collector would know. Sometimes he found nothing. Sometimes he found a book that people were basically throwing away that could turn a pretty profit for him.

He pulled one book out of the stack and ran his fingers over its cover. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Until he opened it. Damn people. Always ruining books by scribbling on the flyleaf. Then he flipped further and found some crayon. The owner obviously let a kid play around with it, not fully appreciating what they had in their possession.

No matter. It was still a beautiful book and these people were selling it for a song. He'd take it and see what could be done with it later.

************

The Fix  
May 2042

"You ever going to let me back here?" Laura asked and Paul looked up from his workbench to see his salesclerk standing there, looking bored.

"What could you possibly do back here?" he asked, finishing up a repair on an old family Bible someone brought into his store.

"Change the music for one thing," she said, walking over to where he was working.

"Hey, you leave my music alone," he said, scowling at her. None of the employees ever liked his taste in music. They all wanted to listen to that pop crap that he couldn't stand.

"So, teach me to restore something? That way, I'd have something to do here besides twiddling my thumbs and flipping through the newspaper," Laura said and he continued to stare at her.

"You could clean the shelves and make sure everything is in proper order," he said and she laughed.

"Boring. I'd rather work with the books. You know, I am going to school next year to get my degree in library science. I think I told you that . . ."

"At least once a day since I hired you. Okay, okay. Next week. I promise. I'll come in on Sunday and show you the tricks of the trade. Besides, I'm getting some state of the art equipment in here that should make this all go easier and save us some money, too," Paul said proudly. He loved books. He loved fixing books. He loved putting books into someone else's hand and seeing the joy in their eyes. He wasn't exactly sure if his clerk loved books as much as he did so he didn't really want her handling the restoration process. But she was right. It would give her something to do and maybe this way, they could tackle that pile of books he had purchased over the last year.

*************

Learning  
June 2042

"Wow."

"That's all you have to say is 'wow?'" he asked and Laura cocked her head and grinned.

"Wow . . . what a nice piece of equipment?" she added and now he smiled.

"It should make cleaning up these old books go a hell of a lot faster. Markings and stains we couldn't clean up before should be a breeze. We still might have to wash the pages, but this should cut back on the time it takes," he said, stepping back from the machine and putting his hands on his hips in a cocky fashion. She had to laugh at him, looking all puffed up over a piece of machinery.

"So, are you going to teach me how to use it?" she asked and he laughed at her.

"No . . . no, no. You're going to learn the old fashioned way first. Then we'll get into 21st century restoration techniques," he said, nodding at a pile of old books. She took one, opened it and flipped through the pages before going to the front endboard. "Can you believe people . . ."

"I think it's sweet," Laura said, reading it over and over again. It really was sweet that someone loved someone so much that they scrawled this across the front of an expensive book with a cheap ballpoint pen. "I think the ink is beautiful."

"So sweet and beautiful they dumped it at a garage sale. Anyway, you aren't starting with that one. Removing the ink is a new thing for even me and keeping the endboards intact without replacing the flyleaf will take too much work for a beginner. Besides, that's what this thing is supposed to help with," he said, patting his newest toy. Laura continued to stare at the inscription. "Grab another book and we'll get started."

She set the book to the side, away from the pile and thought about asking him if she could buy it. He did give her a discount on certain books, especially on the ones that were beyond repair. Paul walked around her and pulled a different book from the pile. A book with the crash intact, but with broken endpaper at the joint.

"This is where you're going to start. Remember, this is a book. Nothing is more cherished than a book. People do most of their reading on those computer things nowadays . . ."

"They have for over forty years, Paul," Laura said, sounding somewhat exasperated with him.

"Right. But this is where it's at. Books. Nothing beats the smell of a good book," he said and she rolled her eyes again. He was passionate about his career and he hated it when she made fun of him but she couldn't help herself sometimes. He never seemed to notice the people around him. Just the books. It could get a little bit old.

"Shut up and show me how to fix this poor thing's binding."

******************

Calling In  
July 2042

Paul rushed out of the back room to answer the phone. "Laura? Janie? Where in the hell are you?" he called out before hitting the on button on the phone. "Ye Olde Bookbinders. Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I'm looking for a book. An old book . . ."

"We've got old books. Lots of them. Actually, we only have old books. Hence the name Ye Olde Bookbinders," he said, trying not to let his sarcasm get the best of him.

"It's called The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing by Heimlich Beckengruber. You wouldn't happen to have it, would you?" the woman asked. She sounded like she's asked the question a million times already. "It has an inscription in the front of the book."

"Yeah. That one. I have it. You want me to put it aside for you?" he asked and she didn't sound so sure of what she wanted to do next.

"My mother and I will be in the area in about a month. Can you hold it until then for us to pick up? I want to make sure it's the right one. I already found one that wasn't right and I don't want to . . . I just don't want for that to happen again," the woman said and he sighed.

"Sure. I'll save it for you. Is that all?" he asked.

"That's all. Thank you," she said, hanging up.

"Yeah. Whatever."

****************

Cleaning Up  
September 2042

Janie was bothered by the fact that Laura got to do all the restoration work and that Paul trained her on the new equipment before he trained her. She also hated that Laura didn't have to clean all the shelves and listen to the customer complaints anymore. Janie knew what she was doing. She had done restorations long before Laura ever got her and she wasn't sure why Paul wouldn't let her do any now.

She waited until it was one of the Sundays that Laura had off and Paul was out scouring over some old estate sale to bring more books back into this place. Then she searched the shelf looking for something that wasn't in too bad of shape and could be finished before either of them noticed. She was sure there was something like that here. People were always making a mess of their books but that's what why they were here; to fix them up.

She found a book on one of Paul's many sloppy shelves that was just perfect for the machine she wanted to use. One of these days, he was going to have to sort all this crap out but he was probably waiting for her to do it. Janie carried it into the back, looking it over. No one would notice if she fixed this. Who in the heck was ever going to buy it anyway? All it needed was to be cleaned up and perhaps she would have to tip on a new flyleaf.

Janie had watched Paul train Laura on his machine, some fancy new laser that allowed them to clean books better than ever before. Stains disappeared under her touch, along with any stray markings. Or not so stray markings. After many hours of work, she looked at the book proudly. The flyleaves were perfect now, using the new paper, and she did it without ruining the cover. Any former sign of the ink and crayon was gone.

She finished touching it up until she was satisfied. She carried the book back to the shelf and tucked it in to its spot, proud of her work. Now maybe someone would want to buy that thing.

************

Epilogue

October 2042

Donna stood outside the store, staring at the door and waiting for Sukie to catch up with her. Her daughter had spent years searching for her book in secret, calling her a few weeks ago with the news that she thought she found it. Donna was sure it was hopeless. Someone probably bought the thing and it was sitting on a shelf somewhere.

Now . . . now it might be inside this very store.

"Ready, Mom?" Sukie asked, standing behind her.

"Ready," she said. On their drive, she finally told her daughter all about Josh Lyman. It was much easier to do now that Richard was gone, too. No matter what man she might have ended up with, she'd still be alone right now.

Sukie pushed the door open and they both walked through, the chimes letting the help know someone was here. It didn't take long for a young woman to come out of the back, smiling at them.

What can I do for you today?" the smiling salesclerk asked. "Looking for something special?"

"Yes. My daughter called about a book by Beckengruber a few weeks ago and a man said you had a copy. I wanted to see if it's the right one and he said he'd hold it behind the counter until I could get here," Donna said, pressing her hand to her chest.

"Oh, yes! This . . . this is a good one," the woman said, searching the shelves. She finally returned with a book. "Here you go."

Donna was apprehensive about taking it. She had to find out if it was the right one. After all these years of searching, she would know in just a second.

Finally, she reached out tentatively and took it, holding it in hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Donna opened it and her heart nearly stopped. It wasn't the right one. It wasn't her book from Josh.

With a sigh, she closed it and handed it back, unable to control the pout on her face.

"Thanks," Donna said, stuffing her hands into her pockets and turning to go. Sukie was standing behind her, a look of disbelief on her face. She had been so sure. Donna even asked her if she asked about the inscription and the man assured her this one did have writing in it.

"Is there anything else . . . another book you might be interested in?" the salesclerk asked before they could get out the door empty handed. Donna just wanted to get out of here so she could cry.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She looked down toward her feet, still pouting. "That's all I needed. Thank you."

Both the women left, arm in arm.

***************

The End


End file.
